


Mary: Adventures from the Morning Room

by mimo



Series: Mary [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-26
Updated: 2010-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-07 13:55:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimo/pseuds/mimo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary Watson has a nice, quiet morning. Also, she is very supportive of Watson spending time with his bestest best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mary: Adventures from the Morning Room

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jaela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaela/gifts).



> A Mary-centric fic written for Jaela's birthday!(because Mary is cool)

On a sleepy Saturday morning, Mary wakes up to the feeling of the early sunlight filtering gently through curtains; warm patterns of linen and lace carried by the soft summer breeze ghosting over her cheeks and another, more solid warmth by her side.

Her husband, even in sleep, is a quiet, constant weight that grounds her. He is like the gravity that pulls everyone blessed with his acquaintance into a sharper focus, the subtle turning of a lens that stoically, unabashedly, reveals hidden truths; his presence like the gentle, gentle, relentless undulation of the ocean.   
And it is moments like this, with the silent breath of the serotinal sun at her front and the steady, stable, unwavering solidarity of her dearest friend at her back, that make her the proudest of who she is and what she does.   
She slips silently out of bed with a quick glance at her still slumbering mate, pads quietly in her slippers through the house to the front door and picks up the day's edition of The Strand from where it lies on her front steps. She sits herself down in the armchair by the hearth with a cup of tea and asks the servants to please have breakfast ready in twenty minutes, by which time the good doctor will be up. Settling back into the easy comfort of her favorite spot in the house she sips her morning tea and scans the paper.   
In the front page of the news today, a mysterious death over which the boys at the Yard are characteristically completely baffled, and the usual advertisements, reports on births and deaths, weddings and upcoming social events, and, finally, a very small article on the slowly decreasing rate of theft in the slums. This has of course been attributed to the Yard's increasing success rate and low tolerance policy.

Mary smiles, sips her cooling tea and looks up to see John standing in the doorway in his white shirt and old breeches. He strides over with all the casual grace of a military man and greets her with a languid kiss on the forehead, settling in by her side with a comforting weight.

"Breakfast will be ready in just a minute" she says, handing him the paper.  
John nods in response, unfolding the Strand with a soft rustle. As the breakfast tray arrives ("Thank you Mary Jane.") his brow furrows in thought as he reads. Mary hides a grin behind a ladylike cough; smiles inwardly at the reaction the words "mysterious death" will always arouse in her husband and says, gently,

"John?"

He glances up over the paper, still looking deeply contemplative.

"I haven't been to visit my mother in a while, have I?"

A pause.

"Perhaps I'll drop by today. Lord knows the poor dear is eager for the company."

John nods in the affirmative and begins to get up with a concerned "Shall I…"

"Oh, you needn't join us this time, I'm sure it will be a frightfully boring day of female conversation. Besides," she allows the smallest of smiles to grace her lips, "you haven't been down to Baker Street lately, and I'm sure poor Mrs. Hudson is dreadfully in need of a, ah, more calming presence."

His countenance instantly brighter, her husband grants her the most gracious of smiles and says softly and with enthusiasm, almost to himself, "Indeed. I do wonder if this tragic business with the Smithson girl might require some assistance in deciphering…"

"I am certain no one would dream of rejecting your service." Mary says, getting up.

She watches as John dons his hat and day coat with a swiftness undeniably brought upon by an eager body, helps him button up his waistcoat with a "give Mrs. Hudson my regards" and hands him his cane. He accepts it with a warm grasp and strides out the door, footsteps firm and calculated, limp almost unnoticeable to an untrained eye, and Mary looks on with affection at this proud man, watches his unmistakable poise and the familiarity and respect with which he is greeted by neighbours of both the highest and lowest social degree as he hails a cab. He blows her a kiss, calls "I'll see you later tonight", and retreats into the carriage.  
The morning streets are quiet, and she knows he catches the farewell she sends from the bowler he waves in response out of the small window. Her lips curve in a fond smile.

"Do be careful dear."


End file.
